


The New Normal

by TrivialDesires



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrivialDesires/pseuds/TrivialDesires
Summary: A nice home in a nice neighborhood, a wife straight out of a magazine, and three adorable children defined "perfection" in Nick's life. After a hookup leaves Nick craving more than Rochelle can provide, his definition of perfection, love, and beauty warps.
Relationships: Ellis/Keith (Left 4 Dead), Ellis/Keith/Nick (Left 4 Dead), Ellis/Nick (Left 4 Dead), Nick/Rochelle (Left 4 Dead)
Kudos: 9





	1. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in May of 2020 and figured I'd post it since I was a few pages in. Figured even a couple of views might incentivize me to keep writing, even if I never finish this one. Old ship I love but haven't thought about for a long time. Yeahhhh.

Nick’s POV

Rochelle’s love is red hot, blistering my skin like a bad sunburn. I lose myself in her eyes, the pools of honey as sweet as her caramel skin. Don’t get me wrong, I love her. Scratch that-- fucking worship her, so why can’t I shake the feeling that I’m missing something? Rochelle and I built our lives together blissfully. I make enough money at my white-collar job to pay the bills while she stays home with the kids, our third on the way. Our house is spacious. With a pool in the back, a good school district, and a safe neighborhood free of crime, we have the life that every American wants. This is the American dream.  
Yet, there it goes again. The perpetual itch that Rochelle alone can’t scratch. The urges that overwhelm me and linger painfully despite my better conscience. I know I shouldn’t want anything more than what I do. Rochelle and I, our love is clean and pure, just as God intended. Every morning, the sight of the sun beams on her face remind me that without a shadow of a doubt, Rochelle is the definition of perfection. Our marriage, our family, our life-- we define perfection.  
And maybe that’s the answer to my question. It’s the reason I curiously downloaded dating apps in the first place. Everything that appears perfect always has those little flaws, microscopic scratches that make it unique and beautiful. But my flaw isn’t beautiful. It’s heartbreaking and revolting, and the idea of hurting Rochelle causes a pit in my stomach. I promised I’d never hurt her, so I made little agreements with myself. Keep it anonymous, that was my first rule. Create a fake identity, don’t swap face pics, and immediately delete the account afterwards to minimize the damage that had already been caused. It was a few pictures and videos, texts here and there. It’s the same as watching porn. What was the big deal, right? I could justify it as long as I didn’t look at Rochelle’s face with guilt afterwards.  
But sex is a drug. And like any good drug, the same hit will only get you so high once you build up a tolerance. Texting went to video calls, and calls went to casual meet ups. Only ever once would it happen, though. I’d find a pretty girl from the nearby college, meet up in some empty garage, and we’d both get off without much more than a “thank you” afterwards. No matter how much sex they give me, I find myself continuing to yearn for Rochelle. They may be younger, more eager-- but Rochelle? Her beauty continues to fluster me. Maybe I started doing it to put it all into perspective, and that’s why I can justify it. Some say that such a thing can never be justified. If I were to really break it down, in simple terms I’m nothing but a cheater. I’m one fuck up from throwing away a life I love, a family and home that I have spent the last 10 years building from the ground up. But I can’t stop myself. Especially not now.  
Even I know that this is an awful thing to be doing to her. Trust me, I get it. We’re both showing signs of our age. Almost 40 years old, knowing that I’ve been fooling around with college aged girls would crush her. She would blame herself-- tell herself she wasn’t good enough. She’s tough, but I know that she would lie awake at night and scrutinize every inch of her beautiful body and wonder what she could have done differently. But nothing I do can stop the urges that build inside, the magnetic pull to redownload the apps and start anew.  
I’m troubled. But what middle aged man isn’t? Don’t all guys my age have an affair or two while they sort out their midlife crises? Is it too early to even be having a midlife crisis? Or am I too old to admit that maybe I’m not the man that Rochelle thought I was when we were both bright eyed, 26 and at the altar. Am I really fucked up, or is it simply human nature trying to preserve what’s left of my fleeting youth while I slave away to support the children I so badly needed to bring into this world, if even to preserve her for just one generation more?  
I thought everything would be simple. A few discreet hook ups to get it out of my system, then I’d return to my wife happier than before, ready to grow old and grey with her. For a while, it was. I’d promise myself that it was the last time, that this time I meant it, but a few weeks later I’d be crawling back despite the fact that our marriage was perfect. I’d crawl back for the adrenaline; the rush of knowing that this was going to help me be a better husband, a better father. I’d swoop in after each affair, the pheromones still lingering on my skin and I would meld with Rochelle as if we were two beings of the same spirit. Whenever I started to feel that disconnect again, the urges overpowered me and the cycle would repeat. Like I said, sex is a drug. In the wrong hands, it can be deadly.  
But everything changed when I met Ellis. God, I don’t even know how to describe him. Curiosity got the better of me, and I figured I’d test the waters with a few men before calling it quits for good. Maybe the change would be enough of a jolt to my system to break the cycle, setting me free so I could continue devoting 100% of myself to my wife. However… Here he was. He was dumb as a sack of bricks, his hands stained and hardened through years of hard labor, yet soft as he caressed me. His body felt odd against mine, foreign and heavy, but intoxicating at the same time. The way my name rolled from his lips, I wanted more and more. But I promised myself I wouldn’t see him again. Not again. Once and done, that’s all I could allow myself. Everyone else? Their names and faces have already begun to fade. They’re all just one night stands, affairs that are unremarkable and easily forgotten.  
So why can’t I get him out of my head?


	2. The Midnight Riders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellis' inner monologue.

Ellis’ POV

Have you ever wanted something so bad that it hurts you? I’m not talking about a scrape or a scratch, but something much deeper. It’s the kind of hurt that digs like a knife in your stomach or squeezes your heart until you’re certain you’re dying. It’s pain you can never put words to, but you can feel it harder than any other pain you have ever felt. See, that’s my life. I want to be loved, but I’m starting to think that maybe love isn’t for me. When Keith and I left Georgia to start our own mechanic type business, I thought that success was the only thing I wanted. As I lay awake at night, I realize now that all I want is for him to love me.   
It’s a want full of regrets, admittedly. Every time we go out drinking together I wish he’d get drunk enough to kiss me, push his lips against mine feverishly in some inebriated mistake we would never talk about after that night. I’ve laid in my bed at night, listening to him next door with some young, eager girl and all I could think about was how badly I wished I could please him like that. Every night, my brain played scenarios over and over again-- his smile after a kiss, the way he’d say my name in a tone no one else could hear, the feeling of his mouth and the strokes of his hands.  
And every single time, I’m left with tears in my eyes, a knot of guilt in my stomach, and cum splattered across my knuckles. You see, Keith would never love someone like me. We had known each other for too many years-- he was the buddy I drank with and made stupid decisions with. If I ever told him how I felt, these nasty filthy urges for him-- well hell, I’d be losing my best damn friend, wouldn’t I?  
So I resorted to dating apps. I’d let a few guys fuck me to fill that void, you know? Sometimes I never even saw their faces, never even knew their names or status or anything about them... It would help give the illusion that maybe I was worthy of being loved by /him/, but the illusion was always broken shortly after the guilt and heartache set in again. It was wrong to have such fantasies about a friend, wasn’t it? To crave so hard that you resort to some anonymous fuck-buddies in hopes one of them will remind you enough of him that you can get off but not enough that you would cry afterwards?   
I’d give anything to make damn sure I never lost Keith, so this is my nasty little secret. He doesn’t know a damn thing about who I’ve been seeing, where I’m meeting them… And frankly, I’d like to keep it that way. If he knew about any of the men, some of them twice or three times my age, he might be so disgusted he’d never speak to me again. Maybe that’s what I want. If he cut me from his life, I could move on-- mourn the loss as if he were dead. If Keith never spoke to me again, maybe I’d be better off.   
A car door opens and slams shut. “Sorry I’m late--” My thoughts are cut off by a familiar voice suddenly, snapping me back into reality. Oh right, Nick again. Gotta focus on him, yeah? Tonight marks the fifth time we’ve met up. Always in my truck, always in some abandoned parking lot. Nick was very particular, always fumbling and nervous. He was new to this scene, it was obvious from the first time he climbed into my car.   
“This ain’t a date, ain’t gotta apologize to me,” I mumble, tossing my phone into my cup holder before turning my body to face the male next to me. He was clearly older than me, probably 10 or 15 years at least. Little bits of grey have slipped into his hair, creeping faintly up his sideburns. It didn’t bother me. Why would it? He was just another dick to suck until I grew out of my whole obsession with Keith. I had to remind myself of that. “Besides, I was never really one for keeping time anyway. Not like I had anything better to do tonight--”   
Nick shifted awkwardly in his seat, a moment of uncomfortable prolonged eye contact between us before he just nodded once. “Uh, yeah. Well I was having trouble with-- you know what, never mind. Let’s just--”   
And this time, I was the one nodding. I leaned forward like I had so many times, my lips pressing against his feverishly. He forgot to shave, yet the earthy scent of aftershave burned my nostrils. Like they had so many other times, my hands creeped up Nick’s thighs until I was at the slight bulge in his pants, groping at the erection that was taking absolutely no time to form. It was all like clockwork. He’d let me suck him off or I might let him fuck me, we’d part ways, and I’d wait patiently until he hit me up again in a week. Even now, with my lips against his neck and my hand on his cock, I felt nothing towards him. It was just nice to feel wanted by him, I suppose.   
It took no time at all to feel his hands tangling in my hair, pushing my head to his crotch while he fumbled with the zipper as he had so many times before. The only thought that ran through my head as I took him into my mouth again was how he forgot to take off his wedding ring this time.


End file.
